By Jonathan Shipley
Shhh … do you hear that? It’s probably not silence. Noise pollution has become, according to the World Health Organization, “an underestimated threat” that can cause short- and long-term health problems. Noise can disturb sleep, negatively affect cardiovascular function, impair hearing, and diminish work and school performance.
Earth.fm recently conducted a study to find places where locals can briefly escape noise pollution. In the Madison area, it noted Olbrich Gardens, the UW Arboretum, and Owen Conservation Park, among other locations. For me, although only a stone’s throw from the airport, Cherokee Marsh is the quiet place that quiets me.
February is a quiet month here at the marsh. The Yahara River is iced. The Canada geese are mostly gone. Occasional flocks of migrating tundra swans have flown. Trees stand naked against somber skies. The meadows are brown and desiccated, awaiting spring’s green. The ponds are frozen over, the amphibians mute. The woods are awash with little more than thin shadows.
The loudest thing at the marsh is me—my frosty breath, my footfalls. The marsh becomes, for me, a place for meditation. Moment to moment. Breath to breath. A silence. That is, until a wind comes. The last of the trees’ leaves rustle. The grasses tilt. The place begins to whisper its song, becoming a susurrus of nature’s story.
There are a multitude of winds in the world. The Alberta Clipper is a cold winter wind from the Canadian plains that swoops down over the Midwest. In Chicago, the wind is sometimes called “the Hawk.” The term’s first documented use is in a 1936 article in the Chicago Defender, the African American newspaper: “And these cold mornings are on us— in other words, ‘hawking’ has got us.” The Hawk has me here, too, at the marsh. I dig my hands deeper into my pockets.
A plough wind precedes a thunderstorm. Anabatic winds blow up a hill or mountain slope. Katabatic winds do the opposite: flow down. In the Ho-Chunk oral tradition, winds from north, south, east, and west—all distinct entities— play prominent roles in creation stories.
“Wind wolves” is a phrase to describe tall grasses moving in the wind. On the marsh, I am prey to these winds. With wolves and hawks about, I pull my cap further over my ears.
Boreas is the Greek god of the north wind and winter. Njord is the Norse god of the wind. Vayu is a Hindu god of the wind and a messenger of the Gods. In Egyptian mythology, Qebui is the god of the north wind who appears as a man with four ram heads. Hine-Tu-Whenua is a Hawaiian goddess of the wind and of safe journeys.
It’s very cold. I ask Hine-Tu-Whenua to keep me safe from frostnip until I can get back to my car.
But, just like that, the wind stops. The trees return to their upright postures, arboreal tombs in winter’s graveyard. The grasses do not move. There are no birds present, no coyotes, no deer. There’s nothing but silence, save my breath.
It’s a glorious universe of cold quiet.
My breath returns. The gods slumber.
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